•••

Though Peneloper knows more than she ever has, it's still not that much. Consider knowledge as an ocean, vast and deep, possibly endless. If this be the case, then Peneloper's grasp of said knowledge would equate to a drop of water, not enough to cure dry mouth let alone satisfy a healthy appetite for the stuff.

But if the story offered no learning curve, our heroine's journey would prove rather dull, no? So she'll start out knowing very little and end up understanding slightly more.

Peneloper is fast asleep if you're wondering, exhausted from seeing the layers of the world as they are.

If she's asleep then, how can the story progress? Well, because it is progressing. Right now, in fact, whether you like it or not.

Look closer, focus, on Peneloper's nightstand, underneath the seashell lampshade and beside the analog clock, at her notebook. See how it jumps? Not typical notebook behavior by anyone's standards.

Watch as blue sparks shoot from its cover. See and hear the black smoke hissing from between each page.

The notebook rocks angrily, back and forth, before diving toward the ground where it lands with a thud and a screech. Anyone in the magical know would recognize that sound, for it is one of dying, defeated magic.

The notebook opens, pages flipping wildly at the prompting of invisible fingers only to stop at the last page written of Captain Stormholden's story.

• Welcome •

All manner of trick and deception were at her disposal. Captain Stormholden knew them well, and when facing off with the Scarlet Reef, the thief of Calaband, he knew how to play her game for the only outcome he sought to herald: that of his winning and of her defeat.

The red-haired woman whimpered, the rusty shackles cutting into the tender, pale flesh of her wrists. "Please, spare me."

The captain slid the dagger across her throat, not enough to slice the flesh but to assure the woman, his threat, this time, was serious. He would not make the same mistake twice; he'd learned.

Scarlet's lip trembled, the color like that of Illeadian silk and soft as petal, though it spewed only lies, no matter how sweetly they might have sounded to the captain's ears. Green eyes dazzled up at him, tears held back by thick, auburn lashes. "I just can't seem to stop stealing." Her shackles trembled, just like her voice. What sweet, pathetic lies.

The captain pressed his dagger into her neck, again, hard enough to make his intention clear, his mouth an impassive line that brokered no compromise.

Scarlet straightened, her lips pulling into a smile. "Alright," she said, nodding toward the dagger. "You're obviously not buying what I'm selling this time."

"No," Stormholden replied, placing the dagger back inside the sheath at his waist.

"So then, what? You kill me and take my gold?" She smirked, jutted her chin, batted her eyelashes.

Captain Stormholden's gaze hardened, though, he must confess, her expression ignited in him a long-dormant desire for human touch, for Matilda's touch. He gulped and swallowed that impulse down. Matilda, his beloved Matilda, married, with kids, doing all a lady was expected to do. And himself, taken to the sea as he'd always wanted. They'd both settled into the routines of lives they chose, and yet, those moments of them in the forest came upon him like greensea, threatening to capsize his conviction.

When he'd first met Scarlet, after she tried to take off with his ship's coffer, back in Prisdiam's port, and her lips had crashed upon his own with a fervent, hungry passion, he'd finally experienced a moment of living in the present. But that was all a rouse.

Scarlet thrust herself at him now, and with the help of a table at her back, she stood, matching the captain in height, though she was admittedly, far more delicately cut than he. "I don't think you have it in you, Cap." She eyed the dagger. "Remember our kiss?"

The captain shifted. He remembered the kiss, he'd tried every day since not to remember the kiss – the heat, the softness, the swish of tongue, the sweetness. Her body molding to his, his hands wrapping around her hair, the silken red curls he clawed at as her tongue became more exploratory, their passion like a keg with a lit wick.

He leaned in, her smile wicked and assured, as though she'd realized she'd trapped another helpless man in her web. Stormholden wasn't just another man, nor would he be her victim, not while his wits remained as sharp as his sword's edge.

Instead of going in for a kiss, which was what Scarlet expected, the captain reached behind her, plucked up the purse resting on the table, and whispered in her ear, "My gold." He smirked and moved away, tossed the purse into the air, the gold inside jingling as they bounced off one another.

The Scarlet Reef pouted, and if Stormholden hadn't known any better, he would have thought she'd admitted defeat. But the Scarlet Reef hadn't become the most infamous thief on the seas because she conceded so easily. And just as this thought passed through his brain, Scarlet's hands were around his neck, the shackles threatening to crush his windpipe as chain dug into him. He twisted, but the Reef held him in place.

"Sorry, Ire," she crooned in his ear. Her lips grazed his earlobe, on purpose, spiraling the captain's heart into a frenzied pace. "But I'll be taking that back." She slipped a lockpick out of her mouth and set to work. Within seconds, the shackles were clattering to the floor, Ire's gold attached at her belt. He hunched forward, red-faced and gasping.

Scarlet smiled, hand wrapped around his quarter's door. "Wish this could have gone better." She chuckled. "You're one of the more passionate kissers I've had the pleasure of encountering."

"Sca—scarlet," he rasped.

She held two slender fingers to her lips. "Now, now, Cap. Don't go pining for a girl; it's unbecoming." She blew him a kiss, threw open the door, and bolted for the deck.

Stormholden collected himself, pulled out his dagger, and, stars swarming his vision, lungs burning with every inhale, he raced after her. She wouldn't get away. Not this time.

What Captain Stormholden thought he would see on the deck of his ship, was not what he saw. The Scarlet Reef stood on the ship's prow, a dingy lowered into the water beneath her, one leg over the railing. Her face still wore the grin of her victory, but she was still as if all life had been chased from her.

At this realization, Stormholden cast his gaze to his surroundings – all things were frozen. The clouds overhead stopped gliding across the star-strewn sky. The ocean calmed, waves stuck to his ship's keel at full crest. The wind silent. His crew frozen in various positions: playing dice, throwing back ale, swabbing the deck, dutifully asleep in the crow's nest, cleaning out their pistols, for what was to be tomorrow's pre-dawn departure.

"What devilry's boarded my ship?" he asked, though he knew no one around him was alive enough to answer. He stepped forward, the eeriness of the scene washing over him, prickling his skin and speeding up his heart.

"This is where your story ends." A voice, abrupt and smooth, like a piece of darkness that had separated from its whole, seeped into Stormholden's head. It seemed to come from every direction and, at the same time, none at all. "And where mine begins."

Something moved from the darkness, fell onto his ship. Stormholden went for his pistol and saber. The mound of black extended, stretched, and took shape. A boy, no more than a youth, stood, draped in odd fashion: a pair of dark trousers, though of fabric Stormholden didn't recognize, a tunic of the same color, though more form-fitting than those he owned. Hair like a raven's feather, long for a boy, and gathered at the nape of the neck. Skin as dark and complete as a swath of night sky, when nary the moon or a star can be seen, and the way of a ship was determined by luck. "Devil's Nights," the lads called them, and they were foul and fearsome indeed.

The boy walked toward the captain and he instinctively took a step back and raised his sword. "What are you? What have you done? Why does my crew stand still?"

The boy shook his head and frowned. "Boring." His words were emphasized by each rap of his shoe as he continued shuffling toward the captain, undeterred by the sword pointed at his neck. "What a bunch of clichés, ugh," he ran his hand through his hair, and nodded toward Scarlet, "Enemies becoming lovers? No thank you." It was then that the boy stopped, and raised his other hand, which Stormholden noticed had been concealed by a thick, black glove. The boy brought it to his ear, and after a few minutes of silence, smiled. "You're right. The werewolves were a nice touch and I'm never one to withhold credit when it's due, even if I prefer the story originally housed within these pages."

The captain stood steadfast, refusing to give in to the fear this boy inspired. Years spent in the war, fighting the Duscan Empire's imperial soldiers, then coming home and having to fight an enemy unseen, the Red Blight – which had gripped so much of the land, spoiled the ground, turned crops into ash, and men into corpses – had taught Stormholden control. He would remain calm, as what else was this boy aside from yet another enemy?

The boy chuckled and threw up his hands. "If that's all you think I am, you have yet to understand true horror." The boy pointed to the starboard side. "Call me Gideon. It's exhausting skimming through thoughts that refer to me as 'boy.' It's reductive, wouldn't you know?" He leaned in, smirking. "Besides, I am in fact, ageless, so you sound rather preposterous." Stormholden's sword-hand began to tremble. This Gideon creature stepped forward, pressing the tip into his neck. "Go on. Kill me. Surely you could. That is, after all, what you were created to do. Kill in the name of honor and valor. Protecting the weak with unrivaled strength. A true hero, through and through. Or," he turned and again, studied the ship's starboard side, "you could take a gander at what's happening over there."

The captain turned his head, spied something green glowing from below. "And what's over there?" he said, his voice trembling, despite his resolve to mask the fear that he now felt pressing against his teeth. "Will it kill me?"

Gideon shook his head. "Though death's often the end of stories such as yours, trust me when I say, you are of great importance, and I will not let you die." He parted his lips and flashed a wicked grin. A shiver descended upon the length of Stormholden's body. His teeth chattered despite the pleasantness and comfort of a summer's night. "Yet," Gideon corrected. "You will not die yet."

Stormholden lowered his blade.

Gideon made a mockery of him, by pretending to wipe his brow of sweat, though there wasn't a lick of perspiration slicking his skin. Then he pressed his palms together and bowed his head. "Thank you for seeing reason." He gazed up at Stormholden, eyes a glacial blue. "Characters like you tend to be impulsive, head strong. Running straight into the heart of the action without a thought in your head. You, however, seem to have been written better."

The captain snorted. "Do not  compare me to the actions of others. I am my own man, incapable of being persuaded that I am anything else." Gideon snorted. "And," the captain said, raising his sword slightly to graze Gideon's chin, " My vanity will not be placated by false flatteries. Know this, foul demon, I will not be so easily tricked."

Gideon shrugged, a bleached bird skull hung around his neck from a piece of chord bouncing against the boy's chest. "Sure. Whatever you say, Cap."

Stormholden put his sword in its sheath, tucked his pistol in the waistband of his breeches. He took a cautionary step forward. The wood would usually creak underneath his bootheels, but silence reigned unopposed. Another step, another, another. The sound of his breath and its rapid increase, the only one finding his ears. Hands outstretched and shaking, he clasped the ship's railing. He tightened his grip, nails gouging the wood, as the first hint of green cast itself upon his face. He stretched, looked below. The water nearest the keel had been to spin, glowing a harsh, sickly color.

He leaned over, transfixed by what he was certain had to be sorcery. The water rose up in a cyclone, dazzling his eyes, and at its center, he saw a sky of eerily glowing stars, a muted more palatable shade of green, along with odd spheres of varying sizes and colors. "What is—"

A force from behind pushed him overboard. Captain Stormholden fell into the water. "Sorry, Cap," Gideon yelled down as water rushed into the captain's ears. The captain gasped for breath, the current snagging a leg and threatening to pull him under. "Though I have heaps of time, I'd hate to waste any more of it trapped in this blighted layer."

Stormholden's vision became obstructed. More and more sea water rushed over him in waves. The air was chased from his lungs, and as his vision darkened, he was certain he would die. The demon named Gideon had lied and this was the end for him, carried to the bottom of the sea by a devil's sorcery.

An image of Matilda, as he last saw her, flashed in his mind. She had been outside her manse, a baby boy balanced on her hip, a young girl's hand clasped in hers. She had been as radiant as the sunset behind her. He had imagined the life that could have been, for the both of them, and those children being a testimony of their love for each other. But he had burned her letter instead of responding to it and she had married another.

Let my last thoughts be of her, he prayed as he let himself be overtaken by the water. He thought of their refuge -- the forest -- her smile, her face flushed and how he had embraced her then with hands, rough and gentle, unspoilt by bloodshed and the hardships of war and plague. He took one last breath and thought of the name he held dearest: Matilda, my sweet, beloved Matilda.

A hand wrapped around the captain's collar and thrust him forward. Stormholden fell to his knees and retched, seawater coming up in frothy expels. His head throbbed, every muscle in his body tense with ache.

Gideon stooped to meet his gaze, and though Stormholden's eyes burned from saltwater and his vision blurred, he could make out the boy's burgeoning smile. "Welcome to the real world." He moved out of the way, providing the captain a glimpse of purple sky and a large ramshackle building not one hundred yards away. "Or," he continued, "a realer version of the world than what you're used to."

Stormholden didn't understand this distinction nor the boy's propensity for vague, odd turns of phrase, and though he'd been more baffled this night than in his entire life, he set out to discern the meaning, turning his head, digging his fingers into the ground, breathing in the air that seemed to weigh him down with every breath taken. No ocean lay at his back, no docks, no anchored ship. No frozen crew or Scarlet Reef. No briny breezes or beat of animal hide drums. Just dirt, a few walls in the distance, and an oddly colored sky. A new place, surely, but a new world? If that were the case, then—

"What—what—" he sputtered, his throat, despite being submerged, raw and scratchy, "—what sorcery are you?"

Gideon reached out and lifted the captain to his feet. "Death," he said, placing his hands inside his pockets. The captain's breath caught; his brow slickened with sweat. The boy carried on with his introductions, never mindful of the captain's paling skin or bulging eyes. "And what this is," he continued answering a question Stormholden had yet to ask, "is the Refinery. Behind me holds the best drinks in the layers, and if I were to warrant a guess," his gaze oozed over Stormholden, eyes trained like arrowheads on the captain's most vulnerable spots, "I'd say you're in the unpleasant thralls of mild dehydration." He slapped Stormholden's back. "No worries, Cap. How about you and I toss back a few nooses, get that thirst quenched, and then the story, the real story, can get underway?"

He grinned, though Stormholden found it absent any mirth, joy, or mischievous intent. In fact, it raised the captain's hackles and left him feeling cold and empty, reminding him of those nights which inspired similar feelings. A Devil's Night tonight was, and here, standing before Stormholden, a bonafide devil, smiling.